


Chapter Twenty-One: Cracking Up

by CavalierConvoy



Series: MTMTE Series One: Shoot Straight with a Crooked Gun [22]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers Generation One, Transformers Generation Two, Transformers: Beast Machines, Transformers: Beast Wars
Genre: Gen, Hacking, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Investigations, Isolation, Other, Paranoia, Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 09:36:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3483311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavalierConvoy/pseuds/CavalierConvoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even though her shift doesn't start till midday, Artemis hits Red Alert's hab to see if there's any clues regarding his attempted suicide, but finds his terminal off the grid and locked out. Good thing she has a black-hat in her pocket, but with her flask empty and bad memories threatening to bubble to the surface, it was not the best of times to go at her investigation solo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chapter Twenty-One: Cracking Up

Hey, I got the eyes of a man that's being cut  
I got the view of a rat king's son  
I guess I'm new and I don't know what to do  
I'll judge you fine in my mind in my...  
I'm cracking up

\--["Cracking Up"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nSO0T4daYqA) by Jesus and Mary Chain, from 

The _Lost Light_  
Brig  
Now

Artemis woke to a gentle shake. "Couldn't dry out in your own hab?" Trailcutter grinned as she sat up; by his breath, he had V7 for breakfast.

She groaned, sitting up on the slab. "Cav had friends over. And they got to my public stash."

"As opposed to your private stash?"

"Oh, sweetspark, you thought only Cav had caches all over this ship."

"That's my girl. So why didn't you crash with us? Hoist wouldn't have minded stepping over your comatose shell this morning. Well, not much."

"You had to work. We would have had the same issue I had back at my hab: bodies on the floor, and cans everywhere. Not a way to start the new regime. And besides, I don't think Hoist likes me."

"That's not true!" The larger mech held out his hand to help her stand; unnecessary, but she took the proffered gesture. "It takes him a bit to warm up to new people. He's just shy around you, that's all."

"That seems to be a common problem whenever I hang out with noncombatants," she grumbled. "Speaking of which, I might have talked Max's audio receptor off."

"It was a change for the better from the usual slag I hear down here," Max retorted. "I hear Rung made a recovery."

"From what I gathered, he's coming back on duty within the next decacycle," Trailcutter nodded.

"And Red? Anyone know when he gets back on duty?"

Artemis and Trailcutter shared a worried glance. "Don't know when that'll be, Max," Artemis took the initiative. "As I understand it, it's pretty bad."

"Medically-induced coma bad?"

"Yep." Artemis and Trailcutter replied simultaneously.

"Well." Max turned his head and shouted down the corridor, "Sounds like you guys are fragged — Magnus is in charge now!"

"I had to come find you anyway," Trailcutter stated after they said their good-byes to Max, "You remember that graffiti we found in the vents, before the whole Temptoria campaign?"

"Don't remind me — I forgot how much Whirl enjoyed playing with victims."

"What the hell are Autobots doing with fraggin' lunatics like him in the ranks?!" Bulletbike shouted as they passed. "Hell, you're a fraggin' lunatic!"

"'Lunatic' is a new one for me," Artemis admitted. "Usually it's either 'lush' or 'please stop beating the slag outta me!'"

"You were pretty scary out there on the field," Trailcutter observed. "Now I know why Whirl doesn't pick fights with you anymore."

"So, back to the graffiti?"

"Well, talked to Cav before coming down to find you. Asked her about the cache near Shuttle Bay Eleven. She said she caches random slag everywhere because she never knows when there's going to be something like when Lockdown came on board."

"You handled yourself beautifully during that, by the way."

"She's a scrapper, isn't she? Like she plans for the end of the universe by surviving in ventilation systems."

"So does it have anything to do with the missing fuel cells? She's still our primary person of interest."

"Now I'm starting to understand Brainstorm's hatred for that phrase." As they exited the brig, Trailcutter flicked the lock, signing out of the system. "Cav still insists she didn't take them."

"And her caches are the only suspected lead we have to her." Artemis shrugged. "That's not much to go by if we don't find the cells themselves."

"I have to say, for 'bots as tight as you and Cav, you sure are certain of her guilt."

"It's because I know her. The only good thing about this is that when we do find out she has them, it would be at the best possible moment where we'd need her to throw some flash bangs."

"Which is why you're not worried."

"Not in the slightest. She's too loyal, just not too keen on rules and laws." A beep at her hip; she unsheathed her datapad and tapped the screen. "Oh, look, an itinerary. Did you know Magnus likes schedules?"

"Did he time the distance it took to walk the corridors?" Trailcutter was looking at his own 'pad.

"Yeah, that sounds about right. Efficiency is paramount."

"Don't take this the wrong way, Art," Trailcutter raised a brow, "but considering how everyone but you and Rodimus is downright terrified of him, what do you see that others don't?"

"Well, for starters," she put her hand over her Autobrand, "he's the paradigm of the Autobot cause, the epitome of all that is good and just in the universe —"

He arched a brow, the corner of his mouth tilting upwards.

"Okay, I've got a thing for tormenting those in positions of authority, bringing a touch of chaos to order, that sort of thing."

"And?"

She sighed, her smirk softening. "You ever face a crossroads? Go one way, and wonder what would have happened had you gone the other path?"

He shrugged. "At times, not many. Doesn't help to dwell in the past."

"And normally I'd agree with you. But this particular choice has to make me wonder. And because I didn't take that path...yeah, I'm rambling a bit. But ever since I joined up at Autobot City, I felt like the chance to follow that path came up again."

"Well, if you want my opinion on the matter, if you had taken that path, would you be here? Would you be who are you now?"

She shrugged. "Hard telling. I might not be as slagged up."

"So you like him because he reminded you of someone you knew but didn't pursue a friendship?"

"I chose to follow another path. I turned my back on stability." Artemis scanned the itinerary. "And speaking of which, didn't you have a briefing scheduled?"

She had deflected the initial question. "Yeah, finished that before heading down here. You got one at the beginning of your shift, I bet."

"As I said, efficiency. So, did he bring up the fuel cells?"

"Negative — at least not to me. Maybe your job. You have the warrant to search Red's room, which lucky for you has been locked up since before Red gave us our orders because of Swerve's habit of brewing moonshine."

"And underneath Red's watchful optic, to boot."

"Two things: Red was so occupied that he didn't know what Swerve was doing, or Red did and didn't see it a threat. Yet."

"Likely he waited to lock down when Swerve was ready to bottle it."

"Thus catching him in the act."

"Exactly." She tapped a quick note. "Frag it, I get bored too easily. Gonna do some extra credit. I'm not going to get anything done on an itinerary."

"You're gonna sneak a sample, aren't you?"

"Gotta make certain it's fit for consumption. You're running low on Nightmare Fuel, which, FYI, you might want to do a count on your stash; I saw a cracked-open bottle sitting in the bar last night, and I know we haven't been anywhere for Swerve to pick it up."

"How did he get in there?"

"'Hey, Hoist, I need to grab something for tonight, seeing that Magnus locked down my hab unit for brewing moonshine. Don't worry, I'll make it up to 'Cutter! Hey, Hoist, did you here about so-and-so and so-and-so doing such-and-such? I'm sure there's some — '"

"Oh, that's just not fair."

"So what's your itinerary say you need to be now?"

"'07:50 to 08:50 - Patrol the brig, ascertain all locking mechanisms are functioning to specifications. Get Artemis up before her shift.'"

"You made the last part up."

"Swear to Primus, I kid you not." He showed her the screen.

She laughed, shaking her head.

"Does he have a sense of humour? He says things that could go either way, and we don't know if he's being serious or — "

"I hear you, 'Cutter. Honestly, that could be his attempt at humour. Could be, can't confirm it. One thing I'll let you in on: if he's searching for words, it's for emphasis of the situation. He know what he's trying to say. And FYI, you're running two cycles behind schedule."

"Slaggit, Art, you did that on purpose!"

She broke formation with him at the next fork in the corridor, giving him a salute. Out of his sight, she lost her smile, drumming her fingers against the flask. It was drained, thanks to her catharsis session with Max last night. 

Returning to Swerve, he would be in the medibay for some time after his accident with the Shoomer. A miracle he only took off the superficial layer of his face and not his whole head. For the immediate time being, there was silence.

How Red, with audio receptors that could pick up a pin dropping five kilometres away, could deal with the endless prattle, it was beyond her. Artemis had her share with chattiness in dealing with Cavalier, but at least Cav would shut the frag up when told. Swerve had difficulties remaining silent for longer than ten clicks.

Thinking about Red Alert gave her pause. Attempted suicide. He was paranoid, yes, but he saw his delusions as hurdles to conquer, driven by obsession to the point of obstinacy. Never had he succumbed to despair. But there was the possibility of distraction: she could not rule on coincidence. Whether he took advantage of missing fuel cells, or he was responsible for the off count, that was unclear.

Her head hurt; she clenched her fist to resist the attempt to pull the last drops of her flask. She needed to survive twelve megacycles. Twelve megacycles.

Reaching Swerve and Red's hab unit door, she thumbed the glyph, her security clearance springing the lock. Swerve's side of the hab sported organised piles of metal and rock samples, with notes written on tabs. The stile was stashed in the corner, under a shelving unit. A cordon bar locked the device from further use. But she was not investigating the moonshine — _a shame_ — and continued to Red Alert's side of the the hab.

In contrast, Red's side was spotless. The only indication that someone lived there was the desk against a bare wall, the chair rolled away, against the wall, as though expecting its occupant to return and resume whatever function had transpired. With her 'pad, she snapped a picture of the scene from three angles before kneeling, looking first under the desk, then under the berth. Red was anything if not meticulous; the floor was clean, any scrapes on the surface were consistent with the chair, following the same grooves. Taking the seat, Artemis pulled herself to the desk, mindful to follow the pattern on the floor. Consistent. This was how he sat at his desk, every single time. There was no deviation: sit, pull forward and twist as doing so. One arc. 

Artemis folded her hands on the desk's surface, studying the contents. A built in console, some books — real books, not datapads — to the right, pressed against the wall of the alcove. Again, taking a photo of the layout, she booted up the console.  
It was passcoded. Of course it would be passcoded. 

Not risking a lockout, she flicked the screen of her datapad and ran her security code. The console did not respond to her request and was likely off the ship-wide intranet. 

With a sigh, she flicked her screen. "Oi, Cav!"

_"Hey, boss lady! You didn't come home last night. Though we did take up your slab — sorry 'bout that."_

"I need your help — got a challenge for you. You've got security clearance for this: I need you to get me Red's passcode for his terminal in his hab unit. Think you could pull it off?"

_"Red Alert's? Oh, give me five cycles. I'd normally take two, but, yanno, it's Red."_

"Send it direct to my 'pad. Thanks, Brat." Ending the call, she moved onto the books. One was a hard-copy manifest of the Lost Light — complete with an addendum to include those who had joined later on, hand-written in a neat script, but scrawling notes had been added in the margins. Upon closer scrutiny, these were Red's thoughts on each of the crew members. But there was not much in the way of information, other than numbers jotted down — 

— she flipped to her listing, one of the hand-written entries. The numbers were familiar: the top one was her weight. Below was Whirl, Tailgate, and Cyclonus, each with a series of numbers; off the top of her head, those top ones were consistent with a weight distribution.

The other book was a limited edition, small house published volume. Tilting the cover to read the title, she harrumphed, but with fondness. _Wreckers: Declassified — The Complete Works of Fisitron._ She never spent time with Fisitron, or rather, Ironfist; met him once, just before she split off to commandeer Thunderwing's _Warworld_. He had been a rookie, but he followed the Wreckers with a religious fervour, used freedom of information acts to get intel on the irregular army. All Artemis knew was that he did not get much on her; a benefit of being on the Senate's need-to-know slag list. Cavalier was a fan of his work and would send him prompts and props through blogging.

Artemis had flipped the cover, thumbing through the index, when her 'pad chirped with a note from Cav. 

The passcode.

"Good job, Brat," Artemis muttered, entering the string into the system. 

The operating system's desktop was as tidy as the rest of the room, with only a single folder. Double-tapping the icon, Artemis perused the contents. A spreadsheet, some documents, and a idea-mapping file. She double-tapped that, and yet another prompt for a another passcode. Rather than attempting the prompt, she opened up her comm. "I've got access to his terminal, but his files are passcoded. Any suggestions?"

 _"And of course, if he's not on the intranet...could walk you through chaining it to your 'pad, but...well, it's Red."_ Cavalier mused. _"Want me to come do some black magic?"_

"Might have little choice. Come on down, but keep a lid on it. Be discreet."

Cavalier did not respond, but the call dropped. The white and black Minibot was on her way.

"Dammit, Red," Artemis crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in the chair. "What could you have found that you would be willing to die over?"

 

NEXT CHAPTER: Forever Gone


End file.
